


Smoker

by PhoebeshipsNellis



Series: Left 4 Dead Special Infected [3]
Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Apocalypse, Different Perspective, Other, Special Infected, Zombie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoebeshipsNellis/pseuds/PhoebeshipsNellis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smokers Story, ft. Hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoker

Smoker peered cautiously over the edge of the large, forever stretched bridge, down into the dark, wavy abyss. His body towered, intimidatingly, especially compared to the staggered undead that scattered, aimlessly, across the entire bridge, littered with cars. It was night-time, nothing excited happened for Smoker in the indigo, haunting atmosphere unless Hunter picked on the common infected but Hunter hadn’t been on the bridge to visit timid, sketchy Smoker in a while. The commons would have been interesting company if it wasn’t for the fact they became vicious and hungry, well, hungrier to the point of starvation. Smoker always thought their natural instincts were pointless, since they couldn’t see well in the dark and survivors didn’t bother going out at night.

Smoker sighed, hacking slightly, and sat down on the edge of the bridge, gently lowering himself.

Smoker’s sight was enhanced during the dark, especially considering the infection spreading and bubbling, repulsively, across his left eye. The area had been lit up in a low green due to Smoker’s eye sight and he swung his long, infectious legs back and forth. The night stretched on for what seemed like a lifetime.

In the midst of Smoker’s life reflection there was a loud clang behind him that caused him to lurch onto his feet, towering once again. His attack instincts were ready before his guard had immediately been dropped when a small hooded creature crawled out from the underneath of a crimson, pathetic truck. It pounced towards him on all four of its clawed, bloody hands and feet.

“Hey,” It growled, embarrassment lingered in its scratchy tone.

Smoker tilted his head to the right for a better look and saw Hunter, hunched guilty. Instead of questioning Hunter about his whereabouts he decided to surpass it.

Smoker returned to his original position, perched on the ledge and managed to cough out, “Hello.”

Hunter submissively copied Smoker’s actions and sat, dog-like, beside him. He made a low growl and Smoker responded by hacking on his own toxic fumes. Their way of conversing had differed to the other special infected but they happened to be the closet of friends. The atmosphere had been heavier than usual and the only thing disrupting it had been the commons hauling themselves around, yelling hungrily.

“Are you okay?” Hunter grunted, almost sounded pained to say it.

It did hurt the special infected to speak, though some were better than others, for specials such as Smoker talking was troublesome. They knew words from their old lives and also adapted back into their hidden humane ways by learning from the survivors.

“Just thinking about… Human.” Murky green toxic air spilled from Smoker’s mouth as he spoke past his over-grown, deformed tongue. He begun to cough the more he talked.

Hunter gestured with his paw-like hands pretending to gnaw on something. “Hungry?”

“No, not eat,” He choked, “Being.”

“Being human?” Hunter repeated, making sure he understood and Smoker nodded his bloated, bubbled face, “You remember?”

Smoker shrugged, “Kind of.”

Hunter eagerly squirmed closer, hoping to hear about Smoker’s past. It was always interesting to him to hear about their past as he could not remember his own. Smoker looked down doubtfully but tried his best to clear his raw throat.

“I was a normal human, yes, no love but had family and friends,” He kept pausing when his voice would get gravelly and painful, even Hunter flinched at the sound of it and reminded Smoker he could stop if he’d like, “School, yes, high school, I played on grass with things, I was important at school grass but not anywhere else.”

Hunter stopped him and tried to say something that clawed its way up his throat, “Sp-spo-rt.”

Smoker widened his grey eye and arched his eyebrow, impressed, “Yes sp-ort, I played on grass with sport and I did those lots until I had a stick of smoke, too many sticks of smoke.”

Hunter put his small paw on Smoker’s pant leg, comfortingly, “Sick?”

Smoker nodded, “Sick, then lots of people sick with not my sick, then I got their sick with my sick,” He gestured to the infectious area.

“Double sick makes you Smoker?” Hunter rumbled and Smoker nodded, appreciative of Hunter’s understanding, “Maybe double sick makes me Hunter!”

Hunter began trying to reflect on his past but the only memory that flickered behind his bandaged, bleeding eyes had been of the past week, pouncing and waking up in different places. Smoker ignored Hunter’s actions and looked back down into the pit of staggering, mindless zombies. Hunter suddenly got up and skittered about.

“Me forget about something!” Hunter screeched, leaping away.

 Smoker groaned, painfully, exhaling a smog of fumes. One of his long tongues poking out from behind his head began to flicker about, irritating him and flicking beads of moisture all around. Pulling himself up, slowly and in his time, he balanced onto his crumby, tearing baseball shoes and staggered around on the continuous bridge for a short while, trying to entertain himself with old cans and emptied bullets shells kicking them about. There was a plain door by his end of the bridge and he rushed towards it, lurching at the doorknob upon reaching it. With his hand on the doorknob he froze, unsure of what to do, before he started tugging at it and trying to yank it off. He sighed and began to hit the door in anger, furiously boiling inside himself he begun to grow tired of himself.

The door crumbled eventually in pieces, making a loud hard hitting noise but he became disinterested with what was inside the room. He still tried distracting himself of his self-hatred. He crouched down by the pieces of shattered wood, touching it carefully with his index finger. Without warning, his splinter pierced his finger and, moving quickly, he jerked it out carefully. A small trail of blood ran down his slender, infectious finger, it was an unappealing shade of purple but he continued to watch it trickle, lazily. A final crash sounded further down the bridge and Smoker began to gather himself quickly, before immediately realizing Hunter had come pouncing back. Smoker drew his interest back to the small, bleeding wound, trying to understand it.

Hunter quietly crept in behind him, being patient and watched Smoker.

Hunter crept in closer to beside his friend. He revealed an egg shaped ball from his jumper, covered in dried mud and blood. Smoker looked over his shoulder before spinning around in awe.

“This is sport,” Hunter declared, thrusting the ball at Smoker.

Smoker barely caught it but continued to observe it, hint of emotions ran across his undead face. Hunter growled, playfully, and Smoker straightened up. He took off with Hunter racing alongside him.

“CATCH!” He choked, almost laughing.

Hunter rushed after it, pouncing on all fours hurriedly, excited and determined he chased the ball. Smoker’s mouth stretched upwards, form the best smile he could and when the small ball grew bigger soaring in the air towards him he prepared his best. It came hurdling into his chest and he grasped it timely.

“Sport!” Hunter yelled, rushing to his friend.

Smoker watched Hunter, buried underneath his hood, leap towards him with a sharp toothed grin and he mumbled past a cloud of toxic air, “T-thank you.”


End file.
